A Snake In The Shadows
by Thor
Summary: Another tale of Detroit, the sheriff has some snake problems. Intrique and violence ensue. But is this the real threat?


Greetings and salutations to thee, my perky pack of peering periodical perusers....I am THOR, feel free to worship. As a matter of warning this story contains violence, adult language, and Settites. (viewer discretion is advised and insisted upon, unless you are bigger then me. In which case read what you wish!) I have based my works in the World of Darkness and White Wolf product lines, (though I do take liberties with some facts, powers, locations, ect. This is fiction, cope with it.) However I do not own them, nor do I wish to challenge White Wolf's rights. I am making no money, send no large thugs to beat my head in. Yes this is yet (ye gods!)another part of my ever growing collection of Detroit tales.This installment features the dread sheriff of Detroit. He is a Lasombra elder who left the Sabbat to join with the Camarilla defenders of Detroit. If you would like to know more about him, the defection, or just about anything else in Detroit (I could even send you my full write up of the city, the locales, and the supernaturals who dwell there. p.s. Don't ask for this unless you would like a huge pile of files [around 6MB] if that fills you with fear you could request no pictures [pure text is only 316kB], no locales, no changlings, no vampires ect...I have little in the way of a life other then pleasing the readers who can look at my work for free.....hmmm, that is fairly pathetic.) or have questions, comments, rants, or ideas I can be contacted at arcanloth@hotmail .com. I do not read my mail every day, but I do always respond. Now, before you drop dead from boredom. Put on your knee-highs, cause there are snakes loose on the streets of Detroit.

Snake in the Shadows: A Tale of Detroit 
    
    Octavian lit his cigarette as he looked around the apartment. It
    was a small place, bedroom, and bathroom, nothing else. The two windows
    were both covered by a layer of black plastic and tape. The bedroom
    contained a desk and three shelves crammed with books and papers. A small
    dresser was backed against the far wall, and clothes stuck haphazardly
    from it. The bathroom contained no cleaning products, no toilet paper,
    no toothbrush. The bathtub was filled with about three centimeters of ash.
    Octavian nodded, it was definitely a Kindred residence, no one else would
    keep the windows barricaded and not have a bed or toothbrush. Detective
    Mazzo trailed Octavian into the room.
    "The boys found the place like this, the 911 call was placed by
    the landlady when she heard a brief struggle. We dusted for prints and
    found only the vaguest traces. All of the prints seem to come from the
    same hands, so it looks like the perp left us jack."
    Mazzo watched as Octavian slowly walked up to the desk and began
    sifting through the papers there. Mazzo disliked Octavian, the jerk had no
    record, nor did he seem to have a badge. But whenever a strange case like
    this happened then all of a sudden Captain Franklin would tell Mazzo to
    hang tight and wait for Octavian. Mazzo watched as Octavian picked up one
    of the pieces of paper and looked at the writing on it.
    "We tried to figure out what that was, since it might be a clue,
    problem is it's written in some foreign language, like German or
    something."
    "Sumerian."
    "Huh?"
    "The dialect is a slight bastardization of Sumerian."
    "Oh, right, Sumerian, why didn't I think of that." Mazzo muttered.
    He watched as Octavian folded up the paper and put it in his coat.
    "Hey, wait a minute that's removing evidence from the scene of
    the crime!" protested Mazzo "I may put up with some other weird shit you
    and the captain do but" his voice trailed off as he looked into
    Octavian's dark eyes.
    "This crime scene turned out to be a bust, there was no evidence
    of foul play, no poison sample taken out of the rug. You will file it
    under another annoying event in your annoying life. I was never here,
    you never called me. Now go."
    Octavian watched the detective turn and wander out of the room. He
    pulled out his cell phone and contacted his childe and deputy Michael, he
    gave instructions that Michael was to head to the police station, collect
    the evidence, and leave the same cover story. Octavian then turned and
    marched into the bathroom.
    "Let's see what news you hide" He murmured as he plunged his hand
    into the dust and concentrated
    He was writing down his translation of the paper he had received.
    It was late and he rubbed his sore neck. Of course his neck wasn't sore,
    and rubbing it just a habit from his living days. As he stretched a
    burning pain erupted in his side. He twisted towards the attacker baring
    his fangs when
    Octavian frowned as he let the dust trickle out of his hand.
    Nothing that pointed to the real identity of the killer. Also it bothered
    him that the killer had gone through the bother of cleaning up the
    remains, only to dump them in this tub a few feet from the murder site.
    Steven wasn't going to be pleased. As Octavian walked back towards his car
    a figure seemed to drift from the shadows nearby, Octavian tensed and
    reached for the sword he hadn't bothered to grab on his way out of his
    club. He cursed to himself, but then shrugged he was far from helpless,
    even unarmed. The figure drifted slowly into the circle of illumination
    cast by the street light. A pale thin man dressed in tattered blue and
    black rags, a single bloody tear tattoo on his right cheek. His white hair
    blew about in the soft night breeze. Octavian relaxed,
    "Hey Sad Man, how's it going?" he asked.
    "Beware in the shadows the snake, strikes soon it does and city
    the shall tremble it when." Octavian blinked as he tried to decipher the
    addled prophets warning.
    "There's a snake in the shadows, and when it strikes the city will
    tremble?"
    The Sad Man nodded, content Octavian had the message, and quickly
    turned and started down the street.
    "Hey wait a minute!" shouted Octavian at the retreating back, "who
    the hell is the snake!?!" But by then the Malkavian had disappeared. "Great,
    just great," muttered Octavian as he got in his car. 
    
    Thirty minutes later Octavian pulled up in front of the
    Renaissance Center, where the prince of the city held court. He nodded at
    the eight guards he passed in the lobby, and stepped into the elevator.
    Moments later he exited onto the 113th floor, a floor that according to
    the building's design didn't exist. He marched into the massive boardroom
    where the prince was currently meeting with some visitors from out of town.
    Octavian waited patiently for the prince to finish, while he stood in the
    corner Eric, seneschal to the prince, sidled up next to him.
    "Tell me, what brings you here again so quickly Octavian?" Eric
    asked.
    Octavian glanced at Eric, from his black suit, to cane, to slicked
    back hair and trimmed beard Eric was a near duplicate of the prince. Of
    course he wasn't half the man Steven was.
    "Business with Steven," Octavian replied.
    "I'm sure you could tell me all about it, after all I am his
    seneschal."
    "And I'm sure that if he wants you to know he'll tell you himself,
    it's not my job to predict the prince's whims." Octavian answered.
    Then seeing Steven had finished welcoming the visitors he motioned
    to him, and headed towards a side room. As soon as they entered it Octavian
    found himself flanked by two of The Honor Guard, Steven's personal ghoul
    bodyguards and killers. The other two stood around Steven.
    "What news of the murder scene?" asked Steven, immediately
    surmising Octavian's purpose. Octavian quickly related the strange
    findings, the poison, the unusual treatment of the body, and the
    untranslated paper.
    "This is what he was working on before he died," Octavian said
    showing Steven the paper, "Do you know of anyone in the city that could
    translate strange Sumerian quickly?"
    "If I were you, I'd try one of the Tremere, they usually have to
    memorize a score or so of odd languages," Steven replied, "In any case I
    want this situation resolved quickly, it would appear sloppy to my guests
    if I allowed unsanctioned final deaths to take place in my city," With that
    Steven quickly turned and left the room, leaving Octavian with his concerns. 
    
    Eric bowed deeply as he was introduced to each of the visitors.
    Steven guided him up to the last one, "This is Chantille, she is a neonate
    of Ventrue's blood, childe of Haronsvelt, childe of Jessily, childe of
    Johans the Brave"
    Steven's voice seemed to fade away to Eric as he gazed at the
    stunning creature before him, her shining blue eyes seemed to be pools a
    man could drown in, and her long blonde hair hung in billowing curls down
    to her waist. She smiled sweetly at him and gently curtsied. Eric came back
    to his senses,
    "What was that?" he stammered.
    "I said, why don't you offer to show this young one around our
    city while I speak with her elders," repeated Steven, annoyed at the
    foolishness shown by Eric.
    Eric quickly nodded acceptance and offered Chantille his arm. She
    took it happily and Eric lead her out. From the shadows across the room
    Octavian watched the proceedings. Odd, it wasn't like Eric to get so
    flustered. He paused one of the passing servants and had him repeat the
    names of the visitors. He then departed the gathering. 
    
    Aleksander was busy organizing the night's reports when Octavian
    stormed into the back room of The Black Sun, a club he operated when not
    cleaning up the city's messes.
    "Greetings sire," said Aleksander bowing slightly, "I trust the
    evening was fruitful.
    "Aleksander," nodded Octavian, "Has Michael called in with the
    report on that poison found in the apartment yet?"
    Aleksander shook his head as he shoved another paper on the top of
    Octavian's "to look at" pile.
    "Also," Octavian continued, "find out where Dalaris is at the
    moment, and contact the Nosferatu, I need a meeting."
    Aleksander nodded and began to type on his computer. Octavian
    walked over to a nearby wardrobe, opening it he pulled off his gray suit
    and put on a pair of tan slacks, a white button-up shirt, and his tan
    trenchcoat.
    "I take it you are heading out again sire, do you expect trouble?"
    asked Aleksander. Octavian looked at him while he pulled a shining
    broadsword out and placed it in a built in sheath in the coat.
    "No more then usual." 
    
    "So where would you like to go first my dear, the Art Institute,
    the Historical museum?"
    "How about a big hangout, like a club," was Chantille's reply.
    Eric smiled softly at her innocently bright face,
    "It might be somewhat risky to take you there," he began, fully
    intending to tell her no.
    "But I'll have you there to protect me," she said earnestly,
    leaning forward and clutching Eric's hand. "You would protect me,
    wouldn't you Eric?" she asked demurely. Eric felt his pride swell at the
    faith this small creature placed in him.
    "Of course I would," he turned to rap on the glass, "driver, take
    us to The Crypt!"
    "The Crypt?"
    "Oh yes," laughed Eric, "It is a rather charming little club, all
    bedecked like a graveyard, actually run by a Toreador I do believe."
    "Then it sounds perfect," said Chantille, smiling. 
    
    Octavian stood over Dalaris' shoulder while the young Tremere
    struggled over the paper in his hands.
    "So can you read it?" asked Octavian.
    "Uhmm, well, it is a very obscure sub-dialect," muttered Dalaris
    pushing his glasses up on his nose. "And it appears to be written in the
    post Gilgamesh era, yet before Hammurabi"
    "That's great, but can you read it?"
    "Well..sure," Octavian waited a few moments, then rolled his eyes
    at the slowness of the neonate.
    "Could you start now?" Dalaris glanced around the dusty library,
    the only other visible occupant was the night librarian.
    "Sure, I guess," Dalaris cleared his throat, "It seems to be a
    description of an ancient rite, or magical spell of some sort. The basic
    purpose seems to be creating a potion that grants to the user near
    superhuman strength and resistance to pain." "Octavian's eyes widened,
    "Sounds like a pretty potent spell." Octavian said, Dalaris nodded,
    "Thing is there seems to be some problems with it,"
    "Like what?"
    "Well.seems to be a warning that once used the spell becomes
    highly addictive, and that soon the user couldn't operate without the
    potion. Second it says it would only work on humans."
    Octavian frowned, who would kill some old scholar over a spell
    that was only good for humans, and was highly addictive.
    "Sounds a lot like the blood bond to me, why would a Kindred
    bother to kill for it? Octavian asked. Dalaris smiled at him and pointed
    to a small inscription,
    "Well according to this it's easy to mass produce, and you only
    need to give them a new dose once a week, pretty convenient if you need a
    huge horde of ultra-violent ghouls quick."
    Octavian thought over the info, Assamites like to hand pick their
    ghouls, the Sabbat likes to transform theirs into monsters. No sane
    Camarilla would want to bother with addicting violent humans to their
    cause. But who would wantThen it hit him.
    "Thanks Dalaris," he said grabbing the paper, "I have to get
    going, see you around" Dalaris watched him rush out. 
    
    Octavian sped down the street back towards the murder site, he
    picked up his cell phone and quickly dialed a number. On the other end
    Michael picked up.
    "Hello?"
    "Michael, it's me, did you get those results on the poison
    analysis?"
    "Yeah, I sent a copy to Alexander,"
    "Never mind that, just tell me what you found out,"
    "Wellit was kinda technical, but the analyst figured that the
    poison was some kind of concentrated neuro-toxin."
    "A neuro-toxin, does it come from Egypt or that general area?"
    "Not really, I hear tell it's a big thing that snakes and spiders
    generate,"
    "Close enough, get together some of the boys and meet me at Black
    Sun in one hour," Octavian closed the phone and pulled up outside the
    apartment complex. "Snake in the shadows," he whispered to himself as he
    gripped his blade and headed inside. 
    
    Inside the building Thomas "The Sickener" was rooting through the
    piles of paper on the desk. Thomas wore loose brown robes, and his black
    hair was all shaved save for one clump on the side twisted into a braid.
    His kohl covered blue eyes darted about the papers on the desk as he
    furiously flipped through them.
    "Looking for this?" Thomas spun around to see Octavian standing
    in the doorway to the room holding a folded piece of paper. "And here I
    thought we'd managed to burn the last of you sick snakes out of my town."
    "You should just give me that paper pal," Thomas said crouching
    slightly as his hands slid into the sleeves of his robe. "Otherwise I'm
    gonna hurt ya, I'll hurt ya real bad."
    Octavian shook his head, "Sorry, but I need to capture you to
    learn where your pals are hiding out."
    Suddenly Thomas sprang across the room, his flesh seeming to
    change to scales as his mouth opened incredibly wide. Octavian swung out
    his arm, and a tendril of shadow burst from under the desk and grabbed the
    Setite's leg. Thomas slammed to the floor even as Octavian drew his blade,
    Thomas quickly spun around, a dagger whipping into his hand, as he slashed
    the tendril apart. He then rolled backwards, just avoiding Octavian's
    downward swing by scant moments. Thomas came up hurling two knives at
    Octavian's face, Octavian deftly knocked them aside with his sword, only
    to be slammed into as Thomas grabbed him around the waist.
    Thomas' arms seemed to lack bones as they wrapped around Octavian,
    his mouth opened and he lunged for the Lasombra's throat! Abruptly he was
    torn back, as two tendrils snaked from his own shadow and wrapped around
    his face, Octavian grunted as he attempted to force the Setite's arms
    loose. Octavian was more then capable of bending steel, but he had to exert
    some blood to his arms to give him enough strength to tear free. As he
    rolled back Thomas finished ripping apart the shadow tentacles.
    "O.K. bitch," hissed Thomas, "It's payback time!"
    He snapped his wrist and a small automatic whipped out of his
    sleeve and into his hand, Octavian growled and charged forward, accepting
    three bullets to the chest as he slammed his blade down on the Setite's
    shoulder, to his amazement the arm failed to sever, though it did drop to
    Thomas' side, dead for the moment. The Setite head butted him in the face
    and then kicked him back. Octavian stumbled even as the Setite leapt on
    him, going with the motion Octavian planted his foot on the Setite's
    chest. He dropped to the floor while rolling back and pushing out with
    all his strength, catapulting Thomas over his head and through the window
    behind him. There was a crash and a yell of surprise from Thomas as he
    fell to the pavement below. Octavian scooped up his blade and rushed to
    the window. He watched the Setite leap back to his feet and dash off
    into a nearby alley. Octavian shook his head in disgust, then spun around
    as he heard a soft noise behind him Another Setite was picking up the
    fallen paper from where Octavian had dropped it.
    "Shit, so there were two of you," growled Octavian.
    The second Setite was darker in features, but wore similar garb
    to the first, and also had a braid of hair hanging down his back. He
    looked up at Octavian as he drew a khopesh out from under his robes.
    "Correct, two, a student, and a master," the Setite answered.
    Octavian sighed as he called to his blood to summon shadows
    behind the Setite.
    "What are my chances that you're the student?" The Setite smirked
    and then rushed in. Their swords met in a flurry of steel, Octavian
    defensively backing up while the Setite swung at him from every
    direction. Meanwhile the tentacles took form and readied themselves.
    Octavian smiled and switched to a more offensive posture. He used his
    heavier and longer blade in huge sweeping arcs, slowly forcing the Setite
    closer to the tendrils of shadow. Without warning the Setite lashed out
    hard in an overhand chop, Octavian blocked it. However the Setite had
    struck with the outward curve of his blade, and thus he easily allowed
    it to slide off Octavian's sword to pause directly between them.
    Octavian's eyes widened in shock at the careful move but before he could
    down parry the Setite sent his blade plunging into Octavian's side, at
    the same instant a coiled chain lashed from the Setite's other hand and
    wrapped around Octavian's legs. With a jerk the Setite sent him to the
    floor and raised his sword for the death blow.
    Suddenly three tendrils of living shadow lashed around his arm,
    holding him fast. The Setite glanced up in annoyance, his tongue, forked
    like a snake's, extended over a foot from his mouth, and he used it's
    razor edge to slash apart the ropy darkness. As he turned back towards
    Octavian he watched as the Sheriff's form seemed to darken and flatten
    out, suddenly appearing as little more then another shadow on the floor.
    The Setite's chain fell harmlessly through the shadow as it slipped under
    him and out the door. The Setite cursed, put away his weapons and
    followed his student out the window. 
    
    Octavian collapsed weakly into his car and started it up, he
    couldn't recall the last time one opponent had come so close to killing
    him. He growled as he started the motor and pulled onto the street. He
    threw his blade onto the passenger seat and reached for the cell phone,
    as he glanced up he caught a reflection in the rear view mirror (one he
    would have missed had his own reflection been there to get in the way),
    that of the first Setite rising up behind him! Octavian lurched to the
    side as a shotgun went off where his head would have been, his Lincoln
    Continental screeched into the opposing lane of traffic as Thomas hurled
    himself forward and latched onto Octavian's head. With a laugh Thomas
    pulled back, listening to the satisfying crack as one of Octavian's bones
    gave way. Octavian flailed his right hand, trying to reach his blade, his
    other hand desperately attempted to drive his car around the oncoming
    traffic.
    "Careful there pal, that truck almost got us, whatsa matter, you
    never driven with a man trying to pull your head off?" laughed the Setite
    as one of his hands gouged at Octavian's eye.
    Octavian growled and pulled the car up onto a sidewalk, at the
    same moment hitting the brakes as hard as he could while ducking forward.
    With a screech the car slammed to a stop against the side of a building,
    Thomas was flung through the remains of the windshield and slammed
    against the building. Octavian reached back and grabbed the shotgun, as
    Thomas pulled himself off onto the passenger side of the car. Pointing
    the muzzle through the side window Octavian emptied the other barrel
    into the Setite, Thomas was blasted back eight feet to slam against a
    dumpster. Octavian grabbed his sword and kicked the passenger door off
    the car as he climbed out.
    Thomas hissed as he pulled himself slowly to his feet, without
    warning he leapt into the nearby darkened street. Octavian sprang
    forward, but when he looked within the alley he failed to see the Setite.
    Off in the distance he could now hear the vague sounds of sirens. Cursing
    he walked back to his car while sheathing his blade. 
    
    "So, you want to explain that one again Octavian?" chuckled Mazzo
    as he questioned Octavian on his accident.
    Octavian sat exhausted on the hood of his car, low on blood, and
    quickly running out of patience.
    "Look detective," he began.
    "No, you look Octavian," interrupted Mazzo, "I might buy the
    whole fell asleep at the wheel story, but that doesn't explain the spent
    shotgun casings, nor the bullet holes in your suit." Octavian sighed and
    looked deep into Mazzo's eyes
    "There were no shotguns, or bullet holes, or bloodstains. This
    was just crazy old Octavian doing something dumb, now go write your damn
    little report like a good boy." Octavian watched as Mazzo wandered off
    and started to collect the other officers on the scene. He glanced up as
    a taxi cab pulled up on the corner.
    "Hey buddy, ya seem to be short on wheels, ya wanna lift?" the
    cabby asked.
    "Fuck off," growled Octavian as he pulled himself to his feet.
    "Sorry, I just heard that you were a kindred soul who needed a
    lift."
    Octavian looked up at the smug cabby. Did he just? Octavian
    shrugged, why not, it's not like it could make the night any worse.
    "All right, take me to The Black Sun."
    As the cab got under way Octavian realized that he wasn't the
    only occupant. Sitting across from him was a gaunt figure in smelly rags.
    Octavian glanced up at Weston, second in command of the Detroit
    Nosferatu. Weston grinned at him with a mouthful of needle-like teeth.
    "Hey Octavian, I heard you wanted to speak to us," said Weston,
    Octavian nodded,
    "Yeah, I don't suppose you have any spare blood on you?"
    Weston grinned and held up one skinny wrist, Octavian shook his
    head sharply.
    "Hell no, I'm not that desperate"
    "Fine then, I guess this'll have to do."
    Weston reached into his rags and produced two squirming rats.
    Octavian twisted his face in disgust, but his hunger got the best of him
    and he drained the rodents dry.
    "Down to business Octavian," hissed Weston, "what do you need to
    know?"
    "First, do you happen to know of any Setites still in town?"
    "One or two," Weston shrugged, "But you can't expect them all to
    be dead."
    "Fine, then here's your payment information, at least two of
    their warrior cast are still active and working in Detroit." Weston
    scowled, realizing that with pre-payment Octavian was automatically
    denying him haggling time, typical Lasombra.
    "Fine, what do you want to learn for that wonderful news?"
    "Tell me all you know about the visitors that arrived today."
    "Oh yes, the visitors. Their names are Haronsvelt, Greg Thames,
    and Chantille. All are Ventrue, Haronsvelt is of the tenth generation,
    Thames and Chantille are his childer. Haronsvelt has traveled in Europe
    for the past two hundred years, this is his first visit to America, or
    Detroit. He embraced Thames around fifty years ago in England, and we
    have proof they have traveled together all that time.
    "And Chantille?" Octavian pressed.
    "Yes, Chantille," Weston ran his hand over his dry bald head,
    "Strangely we are unsure of when or where Haronsvelt embraced her, though
    her name seems to suggest France, but he hasn't been through there since
    1873, shortly after his own embrace. Of course she could easily have
    traveled to England or Germany"
    "Tell me Weston, what other Chantille's do you know of, that
    have been embraced at any time, by any clan?"
    "This is a new question, thus a new price"
    "We'll discuss it all on the way." 
    
    "Dammit Aleksander, how much longer are we gonna have to wait?"
    growled Derek, a Brujah bruiser that Octavian kept on as a deputy.
    Aleksander just shrugged his shoulders and continued to shuffle his paper
    stacks. Derek watched the response and snorted in annoyance."Fuck man,
    I got better things to be doing then sitting here jerking off." Derek
    spun around towards the exit only to see Octavian enter the office.
    "So tell me Derek," asked Octavian, "exactly what is it you have
    to be doing?"
    "Hey, no worries," stammered the Brujah, "I was just worried
    cause you were so late."
    Octavian nodded at him and walked over towards a large map of
    the city that sat pinned to the wall. He picked up a nearby red pin and
    poked it into the map at the location of the murder scene. He turned
    around to look at the five deputies who sat waiting around the room.
    "I have found proof that the Setites are still active in our
    city, and have reason to believe they may be trying to build some sort
    of human shock troop." He scowled at the few chuckles around the room,
    "Silence!" The deputies immediately fell silent. "Now I want you to
    spread out around this area, keep your eyes and ears open. Try to locate
    where the Setites have set up shop. When you locate it get back and
    phone me with the location. Any questions?" Silence. "In that case get
    going."
    The men quickly grabbed their gear and departed the back office.
    Octavian looked over at Aleksander, "Do we have any reports as to where
    Eric and Chantille are?" 
    
    Anne Arbor, Black Hand warrior and commander, crouched on the
    roof of a warehouse peering down through the skylight. Her full black
    leather body suit, and armored black coat served to easily conceal her
    on the dark rooftop. She had been on a scouting run through Detroit when
    she had happened to spot a battle of two kindred in a car. One had been
    the sheriff, the other a Setite. When he had fled into the alley Anne
    had found it easy to track his clumsy movements of stealth and evasion.
    She had figured that whatever would make a Setite assault the sheriff
    would be important. She reached up and pushed some of her long black hair
    back out of her face as she continued to watch, inside the Setites had
    erected a mesh wire holding cell, it currently contained at least twenty
    frightened humans. Near the cage door sat a chair where another human
    was strapped into it. Standing over him was a tall woman dressed in a
    black slacks, red vest combo. The woman's long brown hair had been
    pulled back and braided down her back. She was currently holding a vial
    and eyedropper, she would carefully take a few drops from the vial and
    drip them into the human's mouth.
    After a while the human would stop struggling, the woman would
    say some things to him and then he would be released from the chair and
    escorted by two brown robed men over to the far end of the warehouse.
    Then the process would repeat itself. Anne was curious what exactly the
    Setites were doing, it didn't make sense to have a mind control drug,
    after all any Cainite would be able to overwhelm a mere human with a
    taste of his blood, or a brief application of his mental prowess. Anne
    shifted slightly to get a better view of the after dropper humans. They
    stood around, seeming highly agitated, and were being armed with stakes
    and sharpened pipes. Anne leaned back from the skylight. She tapped one
    of her leather clad fingers slowly against her pouting lips, curiouser
    and curiouser. She paused when she heard some footsteps echoing faintly
    from a nearby alley. Shifting her weight slowly Anne moved to see down
    off the edge of the building. Approaching the warehouse came a large
    black man in jeans and a leather jacket, she recognized him as one of
    the sheriff's men. Anne smiled softly to herself as she leaned down to
    pick up some gravel from the roof. 
    
    Derek walked slowly through the back alleys. Nothing so far, he
    shook his head, hell nothing at all out here. As he turned to depart
    there was a soft ping behind him. He spun in a blur his hand whipping out
    the magnum concealed in his jacket. Nothing. He glanced suspiciously at
    the warehouse the sound had seemed to emanate from. Derek slowly walked
    towards it and glanced up at the window that was thirteen feet off the
    ground. Derek glanced behind himself at the dumpster that was at the far
    end of the alley. 
    
    Anne shook her head in shock at the horrendous amount of noise
    generated by the Brujah draging the dumpster across the alley towards the
    window. She heard a soft click behind her and quickly ducked down behind
    an A/C unit that hummed softly in the night. She pulled out a small
    mirror and used it to glance around the edge of the unit. A brown robed
    Setite with his eyes darkened by black make-up was slowly coming onto the
    roof through the door that lead down into the interior of the warehouse.
    He glanced about to ascertain the source of the racket, and then quickly
    made his way to the edge of the roof. He passed by Anne's hiding spot
    without seeing her, for she had drawn the shadows in amongst her and was
    nigh unto invisible.
    The Setite glanced over the edge at the Brujah who was now
    positioning the dumpster directly under the window. He snarled and
    began to head back to warn the others. Anne stepped out in front of him,
    "Sorry, but I think I want him to discover what you snakes are
    up to," she said softly.
    The Setite's eyes narrowed slightly as he glared at the slight figure in
    black before him.
    "Ya shoulda stuck to the shadows girlie, cause now I'm going to open a
    can on your sorry ass,"
    So saying he whipped out two butterfly knives and swished them in
    whirling arcs, that ended with them snapping into place, blades ready.
    Anne smiled at him and dropped into a slightly crouched position,
    keeping her weight on the balls of her feet. The Setite sprang forward,
    the knives whizzing through the air, Anne stepped in towards him,
    bringing herself inside the sweep of the knives. Her arms snapped out in
    knife-edge blocks that halted the inrush of the blades. She promptly
    butted heads with the Setite, staggering him back slightly, as he fell
    back she allowed her hands to run along his arms, when she reached his
    wrists she tightened her hold, stopping his movement back. The Setite
    raised his head, just in time to receive a brutal kick to the face. Anne
    continued to hold his wrists while repeatedly snapping out her steel-toed
    boots into his head.
    The Setite grunted in annoyance, and with a hiss seemed to slip
    from her fingers. He slid down and rolled between her legs, slashing each
    as he did so, then sprang up behind her. He spun in a tight arc and
    lashed out for her back. Anne however had quickly dropped to the ground,
    and now lashed out with a sweep of her leg that sent the Setite crashing
    down as well. 
    
    Meanwhile, Derek had seen all he needed to of the warehouse, he
    was dashing back to his Harley while frantically dialing his cell phone. 
    
    Anne allowed the blood in her legs to quickly patch up the
    slashes as she rose to her feet. The Setite had quickly leapt to his as
    well, and again charged in with a blur of robes and knives. Anne twisted
    her wrists to a certain angle and two short steel rods slid out of her
    gloves and into her hands. She dashed in towards the Setite, and met his
    charge head on. Her first swings knocked back his knives, allowing her
    to pivot on her left leg and hit him with a spin kick with the right.
    He staggered but quickly attacked back. Anne blocked his left blade, but
    his right was obscured by his wildly swinging robe. Suddenly the robe
    lashed inward as the knife cut through it to jam into her left shoulder,
    the force of the blow drove Anne to one knee. The Setite immediately
    swept his left blade up to catch her under the chin, the slash whipped
    her head to one side while brutally tearing open the soft white flesh of
    her throat. Anne was knocked onto her back as the Setite stood over her
    in triumph.
    As he leaned in to finish the job she pressed two studs on her
    rods as she drove them upwards. The spring loaded spikes drove deeply
    into his chest, and the Setite howled as he felt the wounds seem to burn
    and inflict more damage upon him. He staggered back clutching the wounds
    as Anne poured healing vitae towards her neck wound. She rolled onto her
    feet again, only to be slammed into as the Setite leaped on to her. As
    she reached behind to try to get a grip on him she felt his fangs sink
    into her shoulder. The Setite grinned as he felt the young woman whimper
    in fear, Anne could feel the calming and pleasurable feelings flowing
    out from the bite, attempting to make her cease struggling. Already her
    arms were drooping, one falling to her side while the other rested on
    the Setites head, pushing and urging him to drink deeper of her life.
    The Setite chuckled as he felt her slip against him, pressing her body
    to his, she was defeated!
    However as he drank he started to notice an odd flavor to the
    blood, suddenly his insides exploded in pain and agony! With a howl he
    shoved her off him as he staggered back, clutching at his burning
    abdomen. He collapsed to his knees and began coughing up thick acidic
    blood from his bowels, he gagged as the blood melted his tongue, and
    burnt at his teeth. Anne weakly pushed herself up, she glanced at the
    gasping Setite and thanked all the gods she knew that she always kept
    some spare blood in its acidic form inside her. She retracted her
    steel rods and pulled out a gleaming saber from inside her coat. She
    stood slowly and approached the downed Setite, however even as she
    raised the blade the roof door was opened by another robed Setite.
    Anne cursed as the other one pulled out a gleaming khopesh. She turned
    and quickly dashed towards the edge of the roof, without a moments
    pause she flung herself off and into the alley below.
    Abram dashed towards the roof edge and warily glanced over it.
    He saw no signs of the dark clothed woman. He turned towards the other
    figure, who still sat on his knees gagging out blood.
    "Thomas, how foolish is he that sucks the blood of a cobra,
    only to choose to swallow it?"
    The second Setite looked up darkly from where he lay, a
    churning pain still evident from inside him, "please spare me the
    fucking parables," he hissed at Abram.
    The older Setite shook his head at the impudence of youth,
    as he grabbed Thomas and carried him down into the warehouse. As the
    door closed there was a grunt as Anne pulled herself back over the edge,
    she slipped her climbing claws back into her robe and turned towards the
    roof door.
    "Don't think this is over yet boys, I tend to feel that we have
    unfinished business." 
    
    Octavian nodded his head, "good job Derek, just stay put and
    we'll be there in a few minutes." He slammed down the receiver, "Call
    the boys and send them over to the warehouses near Allied Chemicals,"
    he ordered Aleksander, Octavian then grabbed up his coat and sword and
    dashed out the back door. A moment later he shoved his head back inside,
    "by the way, can I borrow your car?" 
    
    Derek and Michael were waiting when Octavian pulled up in
    Aleksander's Mercedes. "What's the word," demanded Octavian as he hopped
    out.
    "A whole passel of humans up on the drug, as well as at least
    three Setites," Michael replied. "Though when I last peeked in on them
    it appeared as though one of the warriors had gotten busted up pretty
    good."
    "The punk white one or the Egyptian one?" Octavian asked.
    "Punk white,"
    "Damn, In any case we better get ready, we're gonna go in and
    clean sweep the building. Keep an eye out for the pieces of paper that
    contain the notes on how to make that crap they're shoving down those
    human's throats." The two deputies nodded and began to gird themselves
    for battle, as the other three deputies arrived they were given the same
    instructions. "All right," said Octavian, "let's go bag us some snakes!" 
    
    Abram handed the next drugged human a pair of stakes and corralled
    him in towards the others. He glanced up at Sadistica, the commander for
    this operation, as she tauntingly picked out the next kine to receive the
    drug. "Eeny, meeny, miney, moe," she said while lazily waving her hand
    back and forth before the cage. Abram shook his head at her pointless
    wasting of time. Thomas stood near the cage waiting to grab the next
    human, normally he would also have called for haste, however he was still
    weak and tired from his rooftop battle. "I pick you," hissed Sadistica
    pointing towards a young teenage male. He whimpered in fear as Thomas
    ordered him to the gate.
    "Listen fuck-head, you really don't want to make me come in after
    you," growled Thomas as he opened the gate slowly.
    Then with a great crash the doors to the warehouse were kicked in,
    bursting in one side came four large brutes armed with shotguns. The other
    door was kicked in by Octavian, who was followed by a young man dressed in
    black and holding two automatics.
    "Freeze and we might let you live," demanded Octavian in a tone of
    deep authority.
    Abram easily shook off the subtle mental enforcement of the
    command, Sadistica smirked as she did the same.
    "My, my," she hissed, "this looks like a perfect chance to test
    our new toys." She turned to the pack of armed humans while pointing at
    both groups of Camarilla, "kill them!"
    The drug crazed humans roared as they charged out en masse towards
    the surprised kindred. Michael shrugged and began rattling off bullets
    into the eight humans charging him and Octavian. To his surprise only one
    of them dropped despite the fact he hadn't missed one shot.
    "It appears this just became more troublesome," said Octavian as
    he whipped out his blade, Michael nodded as he dropped his first two
    pistols and snatched out two more.
    Octavian easily ducked the first wild swing, and stabbed the
    attacker through a lung. The human howled and swung again, Octavian
    back-stepped only to be hit from behind by a second attacker. Octavian was
    thrown to the ground by the massive force behind the swing, soon dozens of
    blows began raining down on him. Michael yelled in concern and emptied his
    pistols into the kine around his sire, he then jumped forward planning to
    drag them off. As he did so a blade slashed across the back of his legs,
    Michael dropped to the ground, as the blade sank into his back.
    "I say we let the kids have their fun!" laughed Thomas as he
    raised his knife for another stab into Michael. 
    
    Derek blasted his shotgun into the face of another human, the man
    was thrown back headless but another kine grabbed the gun and wrestled it
    from Derek's grasp. He glanced over towards the other deputies hoping for
    some help, but saw they were all still busy fighting for their own lives.
    He hissed in pain as a sharpened pipe impaled him in the shoulder, Derek
    kicked with all his strength into the pipe holder and heard the satisfying
    crack of his ribcage. Derek then grabbed the pipe and ripped it out of
    him, gripping it tightly he swung it backhand into the punk who had taken
    his shotgun, the metal pipe cracked open the human's skull and sent him
    slamming into a wall. Derek threw the pole at his attackers and grabbed
    his "special" shovel off the strap it hung from on his back. He had cut
    up one of its sides and sharpened it in order to create a make-shift
    battle axe, he had also cut the handle in half for ease of handling in
    closed quarters combat. He now held it in his good arm, and swung it in
    mighty arcs. It severed limbs, and tore into bone. Whenever it became
    stuck Derek would just wrench it with his superhuman strength, and rip
    apart the bones it had wedged into.
    Finally it seemed the drugged kine were all dead, Derek looked up
    as the dark-skinned Setite in a brown robe charged the deputies. The
    Setite whipped out his blade and quickly decapitated the deputy who rose
    to face him. Derek roared in anger and charged in towards the battle. The
    Setite easily ducked Derek's wild blow, and sliced open his exposed gut
    in reply. Derek grunted and doubled over, however Brandon, another deputy,
    had drawn his own sword and attacked, preventing the Setite from finishing
    Derek. Derek quickly began to heal the wound and stand back up. The Setite
    was far superior in blades then Brandon, however Brandon was burning up
    blood quickly to heighten his reflexes and enhance his speed. In his
    whirling blur he almost got through the Setite's defenses. Seeing his
    chance Brandon became a frenzied whirlwind of blows that drove the Setite
    down to one knee, as Brandon's heavy broadsword slammed again and again
    into his curved khopesh. But the Setite suddenly lashed out his tongue
    into Brandon's unprotected leg. The stunned warrior screamed and grabbed
    the brutal wound. The Setite promptly grabbed a stake from the ground and
    slammed it up into Brandons chest, he suddenly froze in mid scream and
    dropped to the ground. 
    
    Octavian tried to stand, but was smashed down again by the
    repeated beating from the pipes and bats. He couldn't even concentrate
    enough to summon the shadows, and he began to feel bones giving way
    beneath the assault. Suddenly a black cloaked figure dropped down amongst
    the humans, in a wild blur it lashed out with two steel rods held in its
    hands. The figure didn't bother trying to kill the humans, instead it
    shattered knees, and dislocated elbows. In effect removing them from the
    fight without the terrible injury it would normally take to make them
    stop. Thomas hissed in annoyance and quickly turned to run from the
    return of his rooftop foe.
    "Where you going so fast?" Called Anne as she ran after him.
    Octavian slowly rolled over and tried to sit up. As he did so he was
    suddenly kicked down by Sadistica, she smiled as she raised a sharpened
    spear over him. Octavian grimaced and closed his eyes. Sadistica grinned
    at his surrender to fate, but suddenly paused in her downward thrust. She
    gagged, and staggered back as someone choked her from behind. She thrust
    backwards with her spear but could find no target to connect with.
    Twisting in desperation she looked over her shoulder, and paused in horror.
    Her own shadow seemed to have been drawn up off the ground, and now it's
    spidery black fingers were latched around her throat! Octavian stood up
    in front of her grinning, he jammed his blade into her belly, twisting
    to impale her to the hilt. He then kicked her off of it and stooped down
    to check her pockets. Sure enough the papers where located there,
    Octavian quickly jammed them into his coat. 
    
    Derek swung down with his shovel, but the Setite easily
    sidestepped the blow and slashed Derek's side. Derek spun around and
    brought the shovel within inches of his opponent's face, only to be
    rewarded by another brutal thrust of the blade. Derek collapsed, his
    body exhausted, his blood dribbling out of multiple wounds. He glanced
    up, expecting the death blow, instead the Setite quickly saluted him and
    turned to dash away. Derek made a noise of surprise and collapsed
    face-first into a pool of his own blood. 
    
    Abram charged quickly towards Octavian, the sheriff saw him
    approach and stood, quickly bringing his sword to bear. Abram slid to
    a stop and raised his own blade, he swung it slowly, and then left a
    perfect opening for Octavian. Suspecting it was a trap, but refusing to
    pass up the opportunity, Octavian thrust his blade in. Abram quickly
    slapped it with the flat of his blade, and then hooked the khopesh's
    point so that it rested on the opposite side of Octavian's broadsword.
    With Abram having trapped their swords together the two slowly circled
    around, waiting for the other's move. Octavian started to pull suddenly
    on his blade, and was shocked when Abram suddenly pushed in fully with
    his. Caught off-balance, Octavian staggered back and dropped to the
    floor, he quickly rolled backwards and came up facingnothing. Abram
    had grabbed Sadistica and was bounding up the stairs with her limp body.
    Octavian grabbed Abram's discarded khopesh and dashed out after them,
    bellowing to the just recovering Michael to start sweeping the human's
    minds. 
    
    Thomas quickly leaped off the warehouse and onto another
    building, he dashed a few steps and then glanced behind him, Anne was
    there and closing fast. He growled and turned to meet her, "careful
    girl, I might just forget I'm a gentleman," he hissed as she stopped
    twenty paces from him.
    "I'm counting on it," she said smiling as she drew forth her
    saber, now shining with a thin coat of blood.
    Thomas' eyes widened in fear at the implication, he couldn't
    survive much more of her acid blood, and he knew it, he slowly dragged
    his hands up into his robe.
    "Let's get started, cause I'm looking forward to draining away
    the rest of your hot warm blood," he chuckled as he wantonly licked his
    lips.
    He watched her shining green eyes narrow in rage. That's right,
    he thought, get angry, get stupid. Anne started to charge straight at
    him, Thomas smiled. He whipped out his arms and released a half dozen
    poisoned darts. She suddenly blurred forward, leaping up she propelled
    herself off a nearby vent pipe. Anne spun in mid air and lashed downward
    with her blade, slicing deep into Thomas' neck. He grunted and fell to
    his knees as she landed behind him, she quickly spun around and slashed
    deep across his back. Thomas pitched forward, he felt his control of his
    muscles slipping away, leaving him weak and helpless. Anne sheathed her
    blade,
    "Now let's you and I talk a little," she said as she slammed her
    foot down on the neck wound she had inflicted.
    Thomas whimpered and tried to raise his arms to ward her off.
    "It's not very nice to start sucking a girl's blood," she
    growled, accenting each word with a brutal kick to the whining Setite.
    "As a matter of fact, I really, really, hate it when someone does it to
    me," more kicks, "do you understand? Do you! Do you! Do you!"
    Suddenly Anne was slammed back by a dark figure that leaped into
    her, she staggered and fell off the edge of the roof. Abram quickly
    grabbed his beaten childe and swung him over his other shoulder, he then
    set off across the rooftops at a breakneck pace. Octavian and Anne saw
    his flight, both realized single pursuit would be unwise.
    "Damn," they both said, neither noticing the other. 
    
    "So come on Octavian, I'm sure there's a great reason why
    you're here with some biker nutball," here Mazzo pointed at Derek,
    "whose lugging around a ghetto axe and covered in blood!" The detective
    glared at each of the men in Octavian's group. Brandon shook his head as
    he sat healing the hole in his chest,
    "You wanna do him chief or should I?"
    "Do me? I'm glad you guys are into that sorta thing, cause where
    you're going I hear it's real popular," Mazzo growled.
    "I got it," said Octavian, "the rest of you worry about the guys
    investigating the battle site." He turned towards Mazzo and locked gazes
    with him, "Now listen to me very carefully Mazzo." 
    
    Octavian walked back to where he had parked while he spoke with
    Aleksander on the phone, "so you hear that Eric is sitting around down
    at The Crypt? Great, I'm heading over there to have a little talk with
    someone. What? Oh yeah we dealt with the snakes, and their shadows.
    What? Oh, nothing just a little warning, I'll tell you about it when I
    get back"
    He hung up the phone as he pulled out the list Weston had made.
    It appeared that "Chantille" was more then likely really Fransisca, a
    9th generation Toreador who had been feuding with Haronsvelt for the
    past hundred years. She was known for her bizarre manipulations, and
    described as young and breathtaking. But she had disappeared from
    England eight months ago, the exact same time Chantille appeared. Also
    her lower generation would explain why she was so good at manipulating
    others, like Eric. Octavian looked up as he approached Aleksander's
    Mercedes, yet, as an expensive car left in a bad part of town, it had
    been broken into, smashed with bats, and had graffiti painted on it.
    Octavian noticed that one of the tires had even been stolen.
    "Great," he muttered. 
    
    Octavian hopped out of the taxi and paid the driver the
    ridiculous sum he claimed was the fare. Octavian then turned to regard
    The Crypt, located in the sub-level of a local office building the club
    was quickly becoming a favored hangout of local licks. Octavian walked
    past the line and nodded at the bouncer, the bruiser made as if to halt
    him but was stopped by the doorman who recognized Octavian for what he
    was. Inside Octavian passed through hanging black lace and into what
    appeared, for all intents and purposes, to be a graveyard. The walls
    were painted black with spots of fluorescent paint to mimic the
    appearance of stars. Mist generators left the floor invisible and the
    staff all wore make-up, in order to appear like the dead. Octavian
    scanned the large dark room, he spotted what appeared to be Eric sitting
    in one of the corner booths.
    "Eric, how's it going," asked Octavian as he approached the
    seneschal.
    "She left me, can you believe that?"
    "Who left you?" Octavian asked.
    "Chantille," replied Eric, "she said I was boring her and
    shouldn't come back for a while!" Octavian could see that the seneschal
    was practically shaking, "then she went and decided to hang out with
    some of those Toreador fops!" Eric waved his hand towards the private
    area in the back of the club.
    "Maybe you should head home Eric," said Octavian, "I think
    you've had too much excitement tonight."
    Eric nodded and stood up slowly, he turned to look at Octavian,
    "I would have died again for her," he confided.
    Octavian nodded as Eric slowly stumbled out of the club.
    Octavian turned and headed for the back room, opening a door that seemed
    to be an entrance to a mausoleum he walked into the "private" party.
    More specifically, a kindred only party. Decorated much like the front
    of the club, the only difference being the drinks that were served,
    Octavian slowly wound his way towards a small cluster of Toreador and
    Brujah. A loud song about cutting off arms and legs, and love played as
    Octavian approached the group. Sitting in the middle of the cluster was
    Raymond, owner of this and many other clubs in Detroit. His perfect smile
    flashed as he talked to his listeners about some of his latest
    politicking in Detroit. Octavian thought it odd that Raymond would so
    openly discuss his business. Off to the side of the group, yet still
    seeming to be at its center, sat Chantille. Her lacy dress was gone,
    now she wore a dirty baseball cap, torn jeans, and a Steelers jersey.
    But for some reason she seemed just as beautiful and charismatic,
    perhaps more so since now she had opted to step off her pedestal and
    become reachable by us mere mortals.
    Octavian shook his head to clear his thoughts, shocked that
    despite the fact he expected something he had still fallen under her
    spell.
    He cleared his throat, "pardon me for interrupting gentlemen,
    but I'm afraid that I have to speak with Ms. Chantille privately for a
    moment."
    He gripped her by the arm and quickly lead her away, she didn't
    even resist. He noticed that as soon as she left the strange gathering
    it seemed to lose focus and also quickly dispersed, though many of the
    members kept one eye on Chantille, waiting for Octavian to leave her a
    gain. He dragged the small teenage girl towards a quiet corner and shoved
    her into a seat at a small table.
    "Okay it's time for some answers, and I want them now!"
    "Whatever do you mean sir?" She asked quietly and innocently.
    Octavian almost forgot what he was there for, he suddenly felt
    the urge to sit with her and simply be near her. He shook his head.
    "I mean, you're not the childe of Haronsvelt, as a matter of
    fact I suspect you brainwashed him into thinking he was your sire." She
    seemed shocked at the notion. "Though I'm still not sure exactly who you
    are, I want to know why the hell you're trying to sneak into my city as
    an 11th generation neonate, when I know you have to be a lower
    generation, and probably older then that."
    Octavian finished, feeling exhausted after getting the
    information out. He looked up at Chantille, expecting to see her worried
    by his sudden knowledge of her true nature. Instead she was smiling
    softly at him. He leaned back in shock as she slowly bent in over the
    table towards him.
    "My, my, you are as good as your reputation states. Dear, dear
    Octavian," she leaned in closer, her eyes seeming to engulf his own,
    "The truth is that I am so much more then what even you suspect, of
    course you probably were well on your way to guessing that."
    Octavian felt like he was nothing more then a small speck of
    dust floating in the bottomless depths of those crystal blue eyes.
    "And the truth of the matter is, I am hardly concerned about
    whether or not you know all about me."
    She smiled fully, and his existence became only her shining
    face, like an angel descended from heaven only now opting to speak with
    him.
    "Let's play a little game you and I. I'll allow you to know what
    I am up to, try to tell anyone else and I will know, and quickly remove
    the knowledge from their minds."
    Octavian reeled, could she be that powerful? To use those powers
    like he did on humans would mean.
    "In return I shall have the pleasure of watching you try to stop
    me." She laughed, and it was like the bells of heaven ringing, "Now, GO."
    Octavian leapt out of his chair, slamming it back, and smashing
    himself into the back wall. He ricocheted off of it and staggered through
    the club, slamming into tables, and dashing up the stairs towards the
    human section. He ran out into the street and slammed into a passing car.
    He rolled on the ground and came up quickly diving into an alley and
    collapsing in shock. He gasped in great lungfulls of air, despite the
    fact he didn't need to breathe. She had done it! She had overwhelmed his
    iron clad mind as easily as he directed Mazzo's! Octavian shivered in
    fear of the possible power coursing through the innocently laughing angel
    who now dwelt in his city. A snake in the shadows. 


End file.
